


Wherever You're Going (I'm Going Your Way)

by remiges



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Friends to Lovers, Getting Back Together, M/M, Pining, Road Trips, anxiety over coming out
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-25
Updated: 2017-12-25
Packaged: 2019-02-20 03:19:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13137993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/remiges/pseuds/remiges
Summary: Claude's been in love before, is the thing. He's even been in love with Danny before, though he hadn't realized it at the time. He remembers how this goes.All in all, it's not exactly a surprise. A bit inconvenient, but not a surprise.





	Wherever You're Going (I'm Going Your Way)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rawrimmapanda](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rawrimmapanda/gifts).



> Hi rawrimmapanda! Your prompt of Danny/Claude + Danny's retirement quite ran away from me. I didn't manage to include any of your favorite tropes, but I hope you enjoy it anyways!
> 
> Title is from [Moon River by Andy Williams](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=L_jgIezosVA).

When Danny brings it up, they're sitting on the deck at his place, dunk off their asses on something Raff had made in his basement and claimed was moonshine. 

"Do you ever think about how things could have been different?" Danny asks over the sound of crickets chirping somewhere in the darkness. 

"Changing your mind already?" Claude asks, tipping his head back to look out over the yard. The world spins softly, and if Danny's going to start having a crisis about his decision to retire then Claude's going to do his best to talk him down from it, but he's not sure how much help he's going to be in this state. 

"No," Danny says. "I mean, not about retiring. I just mean sometimes… don't you ever think about what could have been? Like. Like in high school I wanted to take a road trip, coast to coast, with a couple of buddies. See everything I'd never seen. And—"

"You've already been everywhere," Claude points out, looking over and trying to bring Danny into focus. "Or you could go now, if you wanted." 

"No, that's not…" Danny trails off, shrugs. "That's not the same, you know? It's not getting in the car and just driving, or—" he cuts himself off, glancing away from Claude. For a minute there, Claude could have sworn Danny was looking at him like he'd used to in Germany, but it's probably just the alcohol talking. They don't do that anymore, and he can't forget that.

"You still can," Claude tells him instead of doing something stupid. He tries to rewind the conversation, back to this bucket-list thing Danny's apparently been wanting to do for years. 

"It wouldn't be the same as having done it at the time," Danny tells him, stealing the bottle from Claude and taking a drink. 

"But you can still do it. The oceans," Claude says, waving a hand and accidentally hitting Danny's shoulder. "Like, you can… " The plan is still fuzzy, but it's starting to come together. They'd need a rental, something that could take them to the Pacific, and then they could get a flight back. Snack food, changes of clothing, someone to watch the dogs. Passports? Or—

Claude shivers in the chill of the night, and Danny presses closer to him, the line of heat his thigh makes against Claude's a heady distraction.

"I was just waiting for the right time," Danny says. Claude's pretty sure they're still talking about the road trip. 

"Nobody like the present," Claude tells him, leaning more heavily against his side. "Nothing… no _time_ like the present. Fuck, whose idea was this?" 

"Yours if we're talking dinner, Raff's if we're talking the moonshine." 

"Raff's, then," Claude decides, and feels inordinately pleased with himself when Danny laughs. 

***

Claude wakes up with a searing headache, sprawled out on the bed in what used to be his room, way back when he'd lived with Danny. He lies there for a minute, hoping he'll be able to get back to sleep, but eventually he gives up and levers himself upright. 

There's a piece of paper on the bedside table that just reads _Ocean road trip boys??_ and last night comes back to him. If Danny's having a mid-life crisis as part of his retirement and all he wants to do is relive some fantasy he'd had in high school, Claude can help with that. It's honestly better than a lot of other options Danny could have gone with.

Carson and Cameron are off at camp, and Caelan's spending the weekend with a friend and then going over to his mother's, and Danny… Danny never does anything for himself. 

"Call it a vacation," Claude tells him later when he's trying to get him onboard with Claude's plan. "Or call it a retirement present. From me," he says, and that's what seals it. 

*** 

One minute Claude's getting everything sorted out and rounded up for the trip, and the next thing he knows he's waking up with a crick in his neck that's preventing him from turning his head fully to the side, and they've somehow gotten off the highway and ended up parked in the lot of a tiny store called Ernies, missing apostrophe and all.

"Where are we?" Claude asks, staring out at the faded awning, a stray shopping cart in the space next to them. He can see over to the side where a street is closed down, and beyond that is a bunch of people milling around.

"You can't just drive and not see anything," Danny tells him, unbuckling Claude's seatbelt for him when he doesn't make any move to do it himself. "It's some fair thing, I saw the signs when I was driving. Come on, let's go check it out."

This isn't exactly what Claude had in mind when he'd let Danny take a turn at driving, but it's Danny's show and Claude's just along for the ride. He shrugs, grabs his hat, and gets out of the car. 

The festival is an agglomeration of a 4-H fair and something like a pageant, if the girls walking around in dresses and sashes are any indication. It runs across the square and down a hill to a park that Claude can just see through the tree-cover, and there are people selling drinks and carnival food. Claude pats his pockets for his wallet before realizing he's left it in the glove compartment of the rental. 

"Stay here, I'll go grab us something to drink," Danny tells him, obviously having the same thought Claude is, and he sets off before Claude can tell him what he wants.

"Sure," Claude says belatedly. "I'll be here." 

Claude's pretty sure they're still in Pennsylvania, unless Danny's been driving like a maniac, but he doesn't think anyone expects NHL stars to be wandering around the fair of a town that looks like it can't have more than five thousand inhabitants at most. Still, he pulls his baseball cap down further and shoves his hands in his pockets. The line over at the food and drink stands looks long, so he starts wandering, just taking everything in. There are red ribbons twined around the lamp posts, and a face-painting station under an awning, and a woman with a dog being mobbed by children. 

Danny finds him five minutes later by the maypole on the center green, outside a couple of old-time shops. 

"Here," Danny says, passing him a cup. "The sign said it was a lemon shake-up, tell me if it's any good."

It tastes like lemonade with crushed up ice, but it's sweet and refreshing and made with real lemons, if the seeds floating around at the bottom of the cup are any indication.

"What'd you get?" Claude asks, already reaching for Danny's drink. He struggles to get the lid off for a minute, then shrugs and takes a sip out of the straw Danny had been using. The taste of chai is sharp on his tongue, and he makes a face as he swallows his mouthful, passing the cup back quickly. 

"That's why I got you lemonade," Danny says, dry. He takes another sip of his chai-whatever, and Claude ignores the stupid part of him that wants to stare at Danny's lips.

"You could have warned me," Claude complains instead, taking back his own drink so he can wash out his mouth. 

"But where would the fun be in that?" Danny asks, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he smiles. "That's what you get for stealing. Come on," he says before Claude can figure out a way to get him back. "The girl at the booth told me there are floats around here somewhere, let's see if we can find out where they're supposed to be." 

They spend the afternoon wandering around, looking at the trinkets people are selling to support some school program. There's a bouncy house for the little kids, and a woman passing out paper fans with Bible verses on them, and more bags of kettle corn than Claude has seen in his entire life. 

By the time the high school marching band goes by in front of them, Danny is pressed against Claude's side in the midst of the crowd, watching the makeshift parade. He catches Claude's arm and points out a tiny girl with a bass drum—like Claude might miss her—and then does the same thing for the float that looks like a giant ear of corn, and one that has hay falling out of the undercarriage. His hand is warm against Claude's skin, and his cheeks are flushed from the heat of the day, and Claude can't even blame the vibrations from the drums for the way his heart stutters in his chest. 

Watching Danny clap politely as the pageant girls parade down the street, Claude thinks for the first time that maybe taking a road trip alone with Danny might not have been his brightest idea. 

***

Claude's been in love before, is the thing. He's even been in love with Danny before, though he hadn't realized it at the time. He remembers how this goes.

All in all, it's not exactly a surprise. A bit inconvenient, but not a surprise.

***

They leave the fair right when people are starting to whisper, obviously recognizing one of them, and they manage to make it out without attracting either the wrath of any Pens fans or a crowd wanting autographs. 

"That was fun," Claude says when they're back in the car, a bag of popcorn on his lap. 

"Did you doubt me?" Danny asks, checking his mirrors before backing up around a truck with a shitty parking job. 

"Always," Claude says, and watches the signs pointing the way back to the fair dwindle in number as they drive further and further out. Danny has one hand on the wheel and the other propped along the open window, and he looks good. Less stressed than he'd been when Claude had managed to meet up with him during the season.

"So, are we talking about this?" Claude asks when he's flipped through all the radio stations three times and has settled for hooking up his phone to the auxiliary cord. 

"What?" Danny says, slanting a glance at him. 

"Your retirement," Claude clarifies, like there could be something else he was talking about. "The future." 

"Oh," Danny says, like that hadn't been what he'd been expecting Claude to say. "I thought we were leaving the future behind for a while." 

He'd talked it over with Claude when he was still considering his options—go or stay, retire or not. They'd still been close while he'd been playing for the Habs and the Avs, but if there's a difference between living with someone and playing with them, there's an even larger difference between playing on the same team and being halfway across the country. And that's just how hockey works, Claude knows, but that doesn't make it any easier. If there's something Danny's still thinking about that he hasn't been telling Claude for whatever reason, Claude wants to know.

Claude shrugs. "I know you said you were okay with it, but if you ever want to talk." 

"I am okay. Really," Danny insists when Claude doesn't say anything. "You have to figure out what's important to you," he says without looking over at Claude. "I would have liked to have had both, but I think I made the right choice."

Claude doesn't say that Danny still seems sad sometimes, regardless of his choices. 

"So what's your big plan when you get to the Pacific?" Claude asks instead, changing the subject. "I didn't know you had a thing for the ocean." 

Danny's quiet for a moment, and Claude tips his head to the side, leaning it against his headrest so he can watch Danny watch the road.

"The ocean," Danny repeats. "Because I said—" he cuts himself off. "Probably drink a mai tai on the beach," he says eventually. 

"Don't get too wild," Claude says. "I'd hate to find you in the tabloids." 

***

They take turns driving, stopping only to eat dinner and stretch their legs at a couple of rest stops, and when they get tired Claude takes an exit at random and pulls into the first hotel chain that looks decent. 

Claude gets them a room with two queens, and tries not to think too hard about Germany and a king-sized bed, about how Danny tosses and turns in the middle of the night. About how he knows that from first-hand experience.

He takes the bed closest to the window because Danny always complains about being next to the air conditioning unit, and flops down on his back. They live their lives out of hotel rooms, a blur of mass-produced artwork and white sheets. Or, at least Claude does. Danny's got his house now, and the retirement to go with it. He's lost his transiency, at least for the moment. 

"Do you think you'll miss it?" he asks, staring up at the popcorn ceiling. "Room service, check-ins, forgetting your keycard?" 

"I still don't know what I'm going to be doing," Danny reminds him. "I could get work where I'm traveling all the time. And it still won't be official for a couple of months. I could change my mind, get back in the game." 

"Yeah, but it's not like you're going to," Claude says, because he knows Danny. This is permanent. 

"Yeah," Danny says. "No, I don't think I'll miss it. Other things, yes, but not this." 

They vegetate for an hour or so, watch a rerun of some crime show until Danny's head starts bobbing forward and Claude has to nudge him awake to brush his teeth. 

"Try not to snore too hard," Claude tells him before taking his turn in the bathroom.

"I'll do my best," Danny says, like he thinks Claude is joking. Claude sighs and thinks he should have brought his ear plugs. 

***

"So we're really doing this?" Danny asks over reconstituted eggs that morning, sitting in the dining nook of the hotel. Claude is trying to figure out how to get his phone's GPS to recognize the address for the museum Danny had found in a brochure at a rest stop yesterday.

"Did you think we weren't?" he says, looking up from the input screen that keeps telling him his destination doesn't exist. "The rental, driving, that wasn't enough of a clue?"

"No, I just... I just didn't think you'd really want to spend a week of your break traipsing across America," Danny says, nudging Claude's foot with his own. "You could be sacked out somewhere, some pretty young thing bringing you drinks on a beach." 

"I mean, there's a beach in this plan too," Claude says, shrugging. "I figure the wait is part of the anticipation."

"Yeah, maybe," Danny says, depositing his grapes onto Claude's plate, since he can't just make sure he doesn't scoop them out of the fruit salad like a normal person.

"Finally," Claude mutters as his phone dings and recognizes that Ohio _does_ exist, and that the museum is a real place.

It's too early to be up in the off-season, and the woman on the morning news is talking about some price hike in the drug market, and the orange juice is watered down like the concentrate in the machine is running low, and to be honest, this isn't what Claude would be doing if he were by himself.

But he's got Danny sitting across from him, reading over the headlines of yesterday's paper. They're the only people in the dining area asides from a young couple going through the practiced motions of checking their daughter's insulin, and maybe it's not what Claude was expecting, but he can't say he'd take it back if he had the chance.

When he finally tries the grapes they taste like the pineapple juice they've been sitting in, but but he eats them anyway, the skins soft and sweet in his mouth.

***

The museum is pretty interesting, Claude has to admit. It's an eclectic assortment of items—half history, half art—and Claude's favorite section is the wall they've got absolutely crammed with pictures, like an elaborate game of tetris.

"That's the salon style of displaying art," the woman running the place tells them. "Older museums didn't have a lot of space, so they'd just put up as much as they could." 

"And are the artists happy up there at the top?" Danny asks, head tipped back to expose the line of his throat. 

"I've never asked," the woman tells him, turning back to them just as Claude redirects his gaze from the swell of Danny's adam's apple. "But most of the artists here are dead, so I'd say they don't think about it much." 

They spend more time than they expect to at the museum, but Danny doesn't seem to mind, so Claude doesn't either. 

"I've got a friend from Juniors who lives around here," Danny tells him when they're getting close to the Indiana border that evening. "Want me to give him a call, see if he wants to meet up?" And Claude says yes, even though they're never going to make it to the Pacific at this rate. He's never been good at denying Danny anything. 

***

Danny's friend Nemo lives in a white house in a row of other similar white houses, each with a tiny yard fenced in by chainlink. The one next to him has sun-faded toys littering the lawn, but his own has a raised bed that's already got things sprouting, though Claude doesn't know enough about plants to figure out what he's growing. 

The man who opens the door is tall—six-four at least—and has a smile already stretched across his face. "Danny boy," he says, wrapping Danny up in a hug. 

"Nemo, it's been too long." Danny claps him on the back. "And this is Claude," he says, gesturing. 

"Nice to meet you," Claude says, reaching out to shake his hand, and Nemo pumps it with alacrity.

"Come in, come in," he says. He ushers them into a cosy entrance way, with enough pictures scattering along the walls that it reminds Claude of the museum they were just at. 

"I'm glad you're here, you can help me with dinner," Nemo says, then laughs at himself. "No, really, it's good to have you here, you'll have to tell me all about your trip. And help with dinner, too," he adds, and winks. 

Claude likes him already. 

Nemo shows them around the house like they're old friends, Claude included, and then makes good on his promise and sets them to work helping him chop up things in the kitchen. 

"I'm the cook," he tells Claude while he's dicing the potatoes. "Wendy could burn water, god love her." Judging from how many pictures there are of her covering the refrigerator, Claude doesn't think it's made much of a difference in their relationship.

"Claude cooks too," Danny tells Nemo, munching on a carrot instead of helping. "Makes the best grilled cheese sandwiches you could ask for." He shoots a small smile at Claude, who flushes despite himself.

"Yeah? That's cool man," Nemo says, like he's not putting together something that looks like it could come straight out of a seven-course cookbook. "Everyone loves a good grilled cheese. Nothing beats the classics, right?" 

"Absolutely," Claude says, and the conversation keeps flowing smoothly on. 

They shoot the shit for an hour while dinner cooks, and both the talk and the company are excellent. Nemo does a good job including Claude when conversation turns to the past, and Claude laughs so hard his sides hurt at one of Nemo's stories about Danny back in Juniors. Danny gets him back by telling Nemo about the time Coots had convinced Claude that grapes were a berry, but Claude doesn't mind as much as he normally would. 

By the time Danny and Nemo are done reminiscing and Claude has exhausted Nemo's cache of embarrassing stories about Danny, it's getting to be late.

"I can give you guys some hotel recommendations if you want," Nemo tells them as he parcels out the leftovers into containers and sticks them in the fridge. "But I've gotta tell you, there's no place decent to sleep around here, not unless you want to head closer to Indy. Why don't you stay here for the night? It's not any trouble."

"Are you sure?" Danny asks, taking the dirty dishes Claude hands him and rinsing them off before putting them in the dishwasher. "We wouldn't want to be any trouble," but Nemo waves him off.

During the dime tour of the house Claude hadn't seen any guest bedrooms so it's not a surprise when Nemo says, "One of you can take the bed and one of you can take the air mattress. I'd offer up my sofa, but it's a little short, even for you." Danny aims a half-hearted punch in Nemo's direction that he swats away. "Or both of you can take the bed," Nemo says, like it's nothing. "Either way." 

Claude shoots a look at Danny to see how he'll respond to that, the assumption that they're together, but he doesn't seem concerned. "We're not kicking you out of your own bed," Danny says. "Who knows what you've gotten up to there." 

Nemo laughs, loud and long. "Hey, I'll not have you impugning the honor of my fiance," he says, and Claude feels himself relax despite himself. Even if Nemo thinks he and Danny are... _whatever_ , he's not going to go running to tell somebody. Probably. 

And now Claude's tense again.

Danny jibes back, but he's looking over at Claude, leaving the decision up to him. And this is Danny's friend. Claude… Claude can do this. "We'll take the air mattress," he says, trying for certain. 

He's not sure if he succeeds, but Nemo says, "I'll go grab it for you, then," without making any comments, so he must not miss by much. 

"Does he know?" Claude asks later as he's leaning against the bathroom counter, waiting for Danny to finish brushing his teeth so he can go to the bathroom. "About us. Germany," he clarifies when Danny just raises an eyebrow with his toothbrush still in his mouth. 

Danny shakes his head, but Claude has to wait for him to spit and rinse before he gets an actual answer. 

"He knows about you because I've talked about you," Danny tells him as he shakes off his toothbrush, "but just general things. He doesn't know about us, or that you're anything other than straight. I wouldn't do that to you," he says, softer. 

Claude doesn't know what that means, then, that Nemo seems to think they're together. Doesn't want to know if he's that obvious about how he feels toward Danny. 

"Look, if it's weird I can talk to him about it," Danny says when Claude doesn't respond. And Claude wants to say yes, but this is Danny's friend. It's not a big deal. 

"It's fine," Claude tells him, trying to convince himself at the same time. Then, "Out, I've gotta go," when Danny doesn't look convinced. 

Claude sits on the toilet for longer than he needs to, trying to calm down the part of him that wants to make Nemo sign a NDA for whatever he knows, or thinks he knows. It's not like he's going to tell anyone, or that anyone would confirm it. Still, that doesn't stop the swooping sensation in his stomach when he thinks about the possibility of it getting out. People would talk, and the players would talk, and for all that Claude doesn't regret Germany—longs for it, most days—he can't help but wish that everything had been easier to leave over on the other side of the Atlantic.

***

Nemo and Danny have pumped up the air mattress and gotten sheets on it by the time Claude's finally ready to go to sleep. It's all set up in the living room next to the couch that was deemed too short, and Danny's got his reading glasses on, looking at something on his phone.

He's left Claude's side free, Claude notices, and tries to push away the thought as soon as he has it. 

"Nemo already turned in," Danny tells him as Claude gets under the covers and shifts around, the mattress dipping with their combined weight. "He has to get up early for work, said he'd put a pot on for us if we wanted to sleep in." 

"He doesn't need to do that," Claude says. "He's done more than enough."

"I told him that," Danny says. "But he wants to." 

"He's a good guy," Claude says, thinking about how comfortable it had been today, even if Nemo did think they were together.

"Yeah," Danny tell him. "I know how to pick them." 

Claude scrolls through the news on his phone and replies to a couple of emails until the light starts hurting his eyes, then sets it aside without bothering to set an alarm. Danny will get him up if he sleeps in too long.

"Goodnight," he says, and rolls away from Danny, leaves him messing around on his own phone, reading glasses still perched on his nose. 

"Night," Danny answers back absently, and Claude listens to the ticking of the clock sitting on a side table for a long time before sleep claims him. 

He wakes up once in the middle of the night, finds himself at the edge of the mattress, fingers trailing the carpet, most of his side of the covers missing. He rolls back into position only to find Danny hogging his space, and slots himself behind him, trying not to think about how warm he is and how well they fit together.

The second time Claude wakes up, the mattress is halfway deflated and Danny's missing. There's early morning light coming in through the lacy curtains covering the picture window, and he lies there for a minute just letting the soft sounds of voices coming from the kitchen wash over him.

He scrubs a hand through his hair and rolls over onto Danny's pillow. It mostly smells like whatever detergent Nemo uses and a hint of Danny's shampoo. 

He doesn't think too hard about whatever he'd been looking for.

Claude sits up and scoots toward the edge of the mattress, feels himself sink to the floor as he does, then pushes himself to his feet and makes his way toward the smell of coffee emanating from the kitchen. 

Danny's leaning against the counter when he enters, still in the shorts and shirt he'd gone to bed in. By the light of morning, Claude can make out that he's wearing an Olympiques shirt, one Claude remembers him stealing back when they were living together, back before they'd even _been_ together. 

"Here," Danny says, passing him a mug. "I was going to get you up if you kept lounging around any longer."

"Just because some of us like to wake up when it's not still dark out," Claude says back on autopilot. "Good morning," he tells Nemo, who raises his mug in greeting. 

"No greeting for me?" Danny asks, feigning affront.

"You stole all the covers," Claude tells him. "You're lucky I'm even speaking to you at all." 

His coffee is too sweet when he takes a sip, the way Danny always makes it for him. He puts in more milk than Claude likes, but Claude's never minded enough to tell him differently. And after all this time, it seems too late to bring it up now.

"Nemo was just telling me about the spot he proposed to Wendy," Danny says. "Right on Lake Michigan." 

"Yeah?" Claude asks, and Nemo picks up the story. Claude tries to listen, but his gaze keeps getting caught on the size of Danny's hands wrapped around the mug, the swell of his forearm as he raises it to his lips. The fact that Danny's wearing one of Claude's shirts can't mean anything, but it keeps distracting him anyway.

Claude looks away before Danny can catch him, accidentally meeting Nemo's eyes instead. He doesn't look too perturbed, just offers Claude a donut hole. Claude takes one, and tries not to feel like he's done something wrong. 

When breakfast is over, he and Danny put the living room back in order as best they can and round up their things. Danny has Nemo show them how to get to the beach where he'd proposed, and then it's almost time for Nemo to get to work. 

"Thanks for letting us crash on your floor," Claude says, shaking his hand. "Sorry to come and run."

Nemo grins at him, showing off the gap where one of his front teeth should be. "Hey, that's the best kind of guest. Come and gone before you can run out of things to talk about. Seriously, though," he says, pulling Danny in for a back-slapping hug. "Bring the boys the next time you're in the area, sometime when Wendy is around. She'd love to meet them."

"Same to you," Danny says. "You take care of yourself, now. Tell Wendy we'll have to get together sometime." 

Nemo makes them take some of the donut holes from breakfast, loading them up in a ziplock bag, and then Claude's doing one last scan to make sure they're not forgetting anything and they're on the road. 

"So, do you want to go check out Lake Michigan?" Danny asks. "I know it's not the ocean, but it could be fun." 

"Sure," says Claude, because at the rate they're going he's not convinced they're going to make it to Iowa, let alone the Pacific, before they have to turn back, and maybe this will be enough for Danny.

"The radar says it's going to rain, though," Danny tells him, looking at the weather app on his phone. "Twenty percent chance." 

"Those things are always wrong," Claude says. "It'll be fine." 

***

By the time they're a couple of miles out from the stretch of Michigana that Nemo had been telling them about, the sky has taken on a green tint, and Claude can feel the temperature dropping even inside the car. By the time they reach the town itself, the rain has started rolling it, and by the time they reach the edge of the beach the rain has transformed into a deluge. Claude's got the windshield wipers going full blast, but the road ahead is just a blur. 

He pulls into what he's pretty sure is someone's parking space, but there are a couple of others still open, so he doesn't feel too bad. Danny doesn't say a word as Claude puts the car in park and turns off the ignition. They sit in silence as the rain keeps coming down, the sound magnifying until it's all Claude can hear.

"Maybe it'll let up?" Danny says, but he sounds doubtful.

Claude stares out the windshield and doesn't reply. He can just make out the tiny bus stop for the line that runs to the beach, but not the stop number or the beach beyond it. Certainly not the lake.

Halfway through the third day, he thinks, and they're in Michigan. Or Indiana, he supposes, depending on where the state line is, but it's not like that's much better. 

"I'm sorry," he says as the wind picks up, lashing the rain against the car. He can feel it rock slightly, and he's glad that at least they're not still driving. "This whole trip was a stupid idea. I should have just let you stay home."

He doesn't look over, but he can see Danny turn toward him in his periphery. Danny doesn't say anything for a minute, and then Claude hears the click and whir of a seat belt retracting.

"Well, we're here, aren't we?" Danny says, and then he's squirming around in his seat and coming up with his wallet, then his phone. 

"What," Claude starts as Danny sets them on the console and puts his hand on the door handle. 

"What's a little rain," he says and winks, then pops it open. Claude can feel the wind coming through, and he sees Danny adjust his grip. 

"I'm not—" Claude says, but Danny's out and slamming the door on what he'd been going to say.

Claude opens his own door a crack and yells, "I'm not coming with you," after Danny's retreating back, but Danny doesn't look like he hears, or maybe just doesn't care. Claude shuts his door and sits there in the relative silence of the car for a minute, watching the rain fall down in sheets. Danny's disappeared beyond it all, and he's got to be getting soaked.

"Crazy," he mutters to himself. "We're looking at the same thing, right?" He sits there for a minute more, but it doesn't look like Danny's coming back before he completes whatever mission he's on.

"Crazy," Claude repeats, but that doesn't explain why he's taking the keys out of the ignition and putting them in his pocket, exchanging them for the kleenex he's got in there. He dumps his phone out and takes off his watch, sliding everything into the glove box. 

"Absolutely fucking crazy," he says one more time before throwing open his door and stepping out into the downpour.

It's raining so hard Claude can hardly see, and the road is just a slick of black. He makes his way down the wooden steps of the bus stop and to the beach beyond, staggering through drifts, wet sand sliding in his sandals, and jogs forward blindly until he finally catches up to Danny near the shore.

"I told you it was going to rain," Danny calls over the sound of the wind and the waves, and Claude starts laughing, can't help it.The rain hurts his skin where it hits, but the water is roiling, this massive jittering dance as far as he can see, and there's Danny, half-drowned and bright-eyed, grinning at him.

"I'd say we should take a dip," Claude yells, "but I don't think 'electrocuted in a storm' is something you want in your obituary."

Danny's got a hand up protecting his eyes, and Claude can feel his hair dripping, water running down his face. There's no one else on the beach—not that Claude was thinking there would be—and it feels like it's just the two of them, lost on the outskirts of the shore. 

Claude looks over at Danny, whose green shirt has turned almost black from the water and the way the sky has darkened, and Claude… Claude's not stupid. He's been here before—not Michigana, but with Danny. In Germany, but also here, after Danny got traded. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, but it doesn't make it grow smarter. He looks at Danny and he wants.

Danny looks at him and smiles, and Claude smiles back, helpless not to. This isn't anything like how he was hoping the trip would go, but at the same time, Danny has a way of making everything work out, whatever Claude's intentions.

They stand there, pummeled by the rain until Claude doesn't think he's ever going to be dry again, until the first crack of lightning splits the sky. 

"Race you," Danny yells, and he then turns and starts running, stumbling on the sand before Claude knows what's happening. 

"Fucking cheater," Claude calls after him, giving chase only to have to stop and retrieve his sandal when it slips off his foot. It's not really a race, with the way Claude's footwear won't stay on his feet, but he gives it his best go. 

He miscalculates how high the stairs are to get back up to the road, though, and loses his footing, goes down hard. He feels the pain in his tongue before he realizes he's bitten it, and then the impact of the step with his shin registers. Danny's too far ahead of him—and probably wouldn't be able to hear him over the sound of the storm—so Claude takes a minute to gather himself and get back up, cursing as he does. 

"Took you long enough," Danny says when Claude manages to hobble the rest of the way to the car and open the door against the driving wind far enough to get in. "If I'm the one retiring, then what does that say about—" Danny cuts off abruptly. "You're bleeding," he says, reaching out.

Claude winces and flips down the visor so he can see his face in the mirror. His chin is scraped up, and when he sticks his tongue out it looks swollen, but not mangled. His hair is plastered down against his forehead, and Claude swipes his fingers over an eyebrows, wringing out the extra water.

"Slipped," he explains, touching the scrape on his chin gingerly and brushing off some sand. He's not sure how it didn't manage to get washed off. 

"It's a good thing you didn't knock out another tooth," Danny says, reaching over and tilting Claude's face to the side so he can see. "It's not cool if you didn't do it in hockey."

"What, you don't think it'd make me look distinguished?" Claude asks, flipping the visor back up and fumbling around in his pocket for the keys. 

"Dashing," Danny says, dry as anything, and Claude grins around the taste of copper in his mouth. 

***

Even though it's still early in the afternoon, they pull into the first motel they see that doesn't look like it'll give them bedbugs just from being within ten feet. It's technically too early for them to check in, but the manager working the desk gives them a room anyway.

"What'd it cost you?" Claude asks after he's hauled their stuff out of the back and made a dash for their room.

"Why do you think it cost anything?" Danny says, taking his bag from Claude and setting it on the foot of one of the beds.

"There was a car in one of the employee parking spots that had a Flyers' license plate holder," Claude says. "So?"

"How could you possibly have seen that?" Danny asks, then goes on with a sigh when Claude gestures for him to continue. "An autograph and a selfie," he tells him, and Claude grins. 

"Told you," he says. "Don't underestimate me, I'm smarter than I look." He taps a finger against the side of his head, then sets to work peeling out of his wet clothes. His fingers are too numb to work the buttons on his polo shirt, but he's pretty sure he can take it off like that. It's only when he's gotten his head stuck, the fabric twisted around him and clinging to his skin, that he admits defeat. 

"You were saying?" Danny asks.

"Stop being an asshole and help me out," Claude says, trying to worm his way free without ripping a seam. 

Danny's hands are freezing when he touches him, and Claude flinches away involuntarily. "You're all twisted up," Danny tells him, hands skimming across Claude's skin, and Claude tries desperately to ignore how close Danny is to him. "There," Danny says, pulling Claude's shirt over his head. One hand lingers on Claude's shoulder, like he doesn't even recognize he's doing it, and Claude feels himself shiver. Danny still looks like a drowned rat, but Claude is already gone on him. It doesn't matter what Danny looks like, just that it's Danny.

"Thanks," Claude says, but it comes out lower than he's expecting, and he's not imagining it when Danny's eyes drop to his mouth. 

And then Danny sways forward and is kissing him.

Danny's mouth is a lick of heat, and it takes Claude a long moment to kiss back, his hands coming up to frame Danny's face just as Danny pulls away from him. 

"Danny, what," Claude says, bringing a hand up to his mouth like he can keep the kiss there, his mind spinning. They'd agreed in Germany, and even if Claude wasn't smart enough to realize they were a good thing until they were over, Danny certainly was. He'd never said anything, not in all the time since then, and Claude had been too chickenshit to bring it up. Not and risk making it weird. Not when the reasons for breaking it off hadn't changed, even if he was finding it harder to remember what that had been at the moment. 

"Shit," Danny says, scrubbing a hand through his wet hair. "Shit. I'm doing this wrong. Look, how about you take your shower and clean out that scrape, and then we'll talk. It's nothing bad," he says, like Claude has any idea what he's talking about.

"Danny," Claude says, but Danny's turning away from him.

"Take your shower, we can talk after," he says, moving to the bed and unzipping his suitcase. He stands there, shuffling through the contents like he needs something to do with his hands while Claude stares at him.

"Okay," is all he Claude ends up saying after a pause, and Danny nods without looking up. He's still staring down at his folded clothes when Claude steps into the bathroom, closing the door behind him.

He's still not sure what just happened.

***

Danny's just walking through the door by the time Claude gets out of the shower. "Here," Danny says, passing over the ice bucket. "For your tongue." 

"Thanks." Claude takes it but doesn't put any ice in his mouth. There's no way he's letting Danny run this conversation while Claude can't talk.

"Okay," Danny says, taking a breath, and suddenly Claude's not prepared for whatever is about to come out of his mouth. He has a vivid memory of that last stretch of time in Germany, where they'd had a conversation that started a lot like this one, one where they'd decided it was better if they stopped fucking when they got back to America because it was just too risky.

"You're still dripping," Claude points out before Danny can get any further. He's not, really, but there's sand clinging to his legs and he hasn't changed clothes. "Go take a shower, I'll be here icing my tongue."

Danny waves him off. "No, it's fine. You're just going to keep freaking out if we don't do this now, so here's the thing." He grabs Claude's towel off the bed and spreads it out before he sits on it. "I want you in my life, no matter what that looks like," Danny tells him, quietly serious. "As a friend or something more, that doesn't matter to me."

Claude nods when he pauses. He doesn't think Danny's looking for any input right now. 

"With retiring and all, I've been thinking a lot about the past and about the future, what I want my life to look like. I've been thinking about Germany," he says with a smile for Claude before turning serious again. "I want something real, and I want you. I want to give this another try." 

Claude's heart feels like it's going to beat out of his chest, and he puts down the ice bucket, suddenly realizing how cold it is. 

"And if you don't want this, or don't want it now, or don't want to give this a try again for whatever reason, that's fine. It's just—we were good together, weren't we?" Danny asks, like Claude doesn't remember. "Just… think about it? I know it's been years, and I know things are different now, but I want to give this a try for real, if you're in." 

"Danny, I—" Claude starts, because there's no universe in which he backs away again from this, not after being so stupid as to walk away the first time.

"But I'm thinking about coming out," Danny interrupts. "If that's something you need to consider. I don't know when, but it's something I've been wanting to do for a while now, and since I'm not playing anymore, I feel like I can."

And that... that doesn't really change things, but at the same time it changes everything.

"It's just something to think about," Danny says softly, when Claude doesn't respond. "I know you're not ready to come out yet, if you ever do, and I don't want you to feel pressured. If you even want this, of course. I just wanted you to know how I felt. 

"I do," Claude says. "I do want this," because he does. He's wanted it ever since he realized they'd been a pair of fools for ever breaking it off. "I do, but—"

But he's constructed his life around staying in the closet for so long that he's not sure what it would look like to be out, or even just to crack open that door. He doesn't know what that would be like, and the not-knowing terrifies him. 

"Whatever the answer, Claude," Danny says, moving into his space for the first time since their impromptu kiss. "Just something to consider. You don't have to give me an answer now." He brushes the tips of his fingers across Claude's jaw near where he'd scraped his chin. "I'll still be here. No pressure."

Danny seems to get that Claude doesn't know what to say to that, because he looks around like something's going to appear to distract them from this conversation.

"Thank you for telling me," Claude says, because this is important. Danny's always been the braver of the two of them—it doesn't surprise Claude that that still holds true now. "Really. I just—I think I'm going to take a walk, okay?" 

Danny's already nodding before Claude's done talking. "Take your time," he says, pulling a keycard out of his pocket and handing it to Claude. 

"Thanks," Claude says again, and this time he isn't even sure what he's thanking Danny for—the card? Being willing to wait? Just taking the leap? Whatever it is, he means it, and he closes the door quietly behind him on his way out. 

***

"Hey, Claude?" Danny asks that night when they're both in bed, quiet enough that Claude wouldn't have woken up if he'd been asleep. They haven't talked about what Danny had said, just orbited each other around in the motel room until it was time to go to sleep.

"Yeah?" Claude answers back at the same volume. There's something about being in the dark that makes him lower his voice, always has, even though there's no reason to here. No boys to wake up, or teammates the next room over to consider. Just them. 

"Do you remember—" 

"—Hamburg?" Claude finishes.

There'd been some mix-up with the hotel they were supposed to stay at with the team for one of their games, and the team had ended up scattered between a couple of different places. Their hotel had been a lower-scale one, but what Claude really remembers from that night is snow and heat, the crisp blue of Danny's peacoat and the taste of mulled cider. The comforting weight of Danny's arm draped over his shoulder, and the press of his body bearing Claude down into the mattress, and __ich leibe dich__. And Claude… Claude had been joking. Or at least, he'd thought he was at the time.

"I remember," Danny says, easy. Claude wonders if they're remember the same things. He thinks they probably are. 

"We weren't just good, Danny," Claude says, rolling over toward him. "We were fucking great." 

And they were. For all that they'd stopped when the lockout had ended, it hadn't been because they didn't work. It was just that they couldn't work in America, not and remain under the radar. Or so Claude had thought. 

"Do you regret it?" he asks the shape where he thinks Danny is. It's dark in the room, the security light in the parking lot illuminating the sheer curtains in front of the window and not much more. "Stopping, I mean," he clarifies, because for all the history they have, Claude's never seriously thought Danny regretted him. 

"I don't think we'd have been able to keep it under wraps if we kept on here," Danny confesses. "Not with the team and the media and everything." 

"Yeah," Claude says. That doesn't really answer the question, though, except for how it does. He rolls onto his back and watches the intermittent red light on the smoke detector blinking on and off, on and off, thinking. 

***

Claude wakes up to a strip of light shining through the cracked bathroom door, and almost turns over and goes back to sleep before he registers Danny's lowered voice. 

"Danny?" he calls, groggy. He checks the clock once, then twice to make sure he's reading it right. It's four in the morning, so that means something's wrong or someone's dead.

Danny pushes open the door, and holds up a finger, says something about the hospital and insurance into the phone. He looks stressed and pale, washed out under the flickering bathroom light. 

"Okay, love you," he says, and then he's hanging up. 

"Danny?" Claude says sharper, wiping at his eyes. "Is everything okay?"

"Nothing life-threatening," Danny says, which doesn't reassure Claude, and in fact just makes everything worse. 

"Who—"

"Caelan was as some party and the cops showed up to shut it down. Apparently he tried climbing out a window and fell off the roof. He's fine," he says to whatever alarmed look Claude's sure he's got on his face. "But he broke his leg and they had to take him to the hospital."

"Jesus," Claude says, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. 

"I'm going to ground him until he's thirty, I swear to god." Danny runs a hand through his hair and his shirt rides up to expose the tops of his hip bones, but now isn't the time. Claude's already fumbling around for his phone. 

"You pack, I'll get us a flight," he says, typing his passcode in on the second try. 

"You don't have to come with me," Danny says, turning his phone over in his hands like he's forgotten he's holding it. "I know this isn't—"

"Don't be stupid," Claude interrupts, but he makes sure to soften his tone. "I'm coming with you." 

Danny nods once, this jerky motion, and Claude puts his phone down on the bed, stands up and steps toward him. 

"He's fine," Claude tells him, squeezing the back of his neck. "Danny, he's fine." 

"I'm going to fucking kill him," Danny says darkly, but he lets Claude rub his back for a minute before he moves to grab their bags from the chair and Claude goes back to looking up flight info.

***

"I'm sorry if I made it weird," Danny says as they're driving to the airport, everything crammed in the back. It's early enough that the road is a haze of fog, Claude winding them through a mess of small rural roads to try and get around an accident on the interstate.

"You didn't make anything weird," Claude says, turning down the BBC woman on the radio. 

"Okay, but I shouldn't have just brought it up the way I did, kissing you like that. I had a plan. I had—"

"Danny," Claude says, glancing over. Danny looks wound tight, and his fingers are tapping out a rhythm against the car door handle. "We can talk about it when we're back home, okay? Why don't you find us some music, yeah?"

"I know when I'm being managed," Danny says, not making a move toward the dial.

"Okay, if you feel like listening to the BBC go ahead," Claude says, and after a minute Danny does as he's told and starts flipping through the channels. Claude listens as the Eagles turn into Lady GaGa turn into Prince, and guides them through the dark, the glow of the headlights glinting off the occasional mailbox and turning the world soft and gold in the fog. 

***

They turn in the rental and make it through security, and then they're stuck waiting. Their flight gets delayed, which Claude figures is the kind of luck they're having on this trip, so they stake out a couple of chairs and settle in. 

"This has been a pretty shitty retirement present, huh?" Claude asks finally, watching a harried passenger go jogging past, suitcase wheeled behind him.

"No," Danny tells him. "No, it's—" He finally catches sight of the look that Claude's giving him and laughs. "Okay, it's had its moments, at least."

Claude slumps further down in his seat. "Hey, you remember that last time, in the airport?" He's running on too-little sleep and feeling reckless. It's like starting to talk about Germany again has broken something loose inside him. It's not like he could talk about it with anyone else, and Danny was there for all of it, knows every secret Claude could hope to keep.

"That time you blew me in the bathroom?" Danny asks, like there could be any other time Claude was referring to. 

"Yeah," Claude laughs. "God, we were idiots, weren't we? Like, what were we thinking?"

Claude know what he was thinking, though, can still remember the scent of Danny's skin and the desperate need to have him close, now now now. The knowledge that that was the last time had been sitting under his skin. And the sex wasn't even that good, crammed in the handicapped stall together, but he'd needed to have Danny like that, one last time, despite all the risks. 

He should have known then, he thinks, that Danny was something more than a friend he fooled around with, but Claude's never been that great at recognizing his own emotions. 

Danny's shaking his head, but he's not even trying to hide his smile. "You always were a bad influence," he says. 

"Yeah," Claude agrees, but as he remembers it, Danny was the one who'd kissed him first. 

They sit there, Claude lost in thought, before Danny bends down and starts fishing through his bag.

"Cards?" he asks, pulling out a pack that Claude can remember from nights at the dinner table with the boys and countless plane rides with the team. The pack itself is worn white at the corners, but the cards are still in pretty good condition—just a couple of bent corners and a scratch down the middle of one so everyone knows who has the four of diamonds.

"Only if we're not playing that weird game Jake made up," Claude answers, and watches as Danny upends the pack and starts shuffling. Claude can't help the way his eyes catch on the length of Danny's fingers, agile and effortless, the cards blurring between his hands as he makes a bridge.

But then again, he thinks, maybe he doesn't need to.

***

"They'll charge you extra for all the sand in the rental," Danny tells him during their fourth round of rummy. He sounds less stressed out, or at least the normal amount of stress that dealing with airports always inspires, and Claude feels something tight in his shoulders release for the first time since waking up to that four a.m. phone conversation. 

"I can afford it," Claude tells him without looking up from his cards. "Stop trying to distract me, it's your turn to draw."

***

Caelan is fine, if crabby because of the pain and embarrassed at being caught, and Claude lets him and Danny be with the promise of stopping by later. Four days after Caelan's back home, Claude's got an answer for Danny.

“I’m kidnapping your dad,” Claude tells Cameron when he opens the door. Cameron looks more relieved than concerned.

"Good," he says, letting Claude in and leaving him to shut the door. "Dad's been driving everyone crazy, like it's our fault Caelan is a dumbass." 

"Language," Claude says automatically, and Cameron sighs. 

"Like there's anything else he could be," he grumbles. 

"Claude," Danny says, coming out from the living room. He's been behaving just like he always does around Claude, no hint that anything's changed since their conversation in that motel in Indiana. He really would be okay not pressing it, Claude realizes. Would be okay if this was all Claude was willing to give him. 

"I've come to kidnap you," Claude tells him instead of dwelling on that, and holds up an old tie he'd grabbed from the back of his closet. "Don't make it weird," he says as he steps around Danny to tie the makeshift blindfold on. 

"I think that ship's already sailed," Danny says, but Claude can tell he's smiling from his voice. "Where are you taking me?"

"That would defeat the whole purpose of the blindfold," Claude tells him, taking his elbow to guide him forward. "Alright, the door's to your left." 

"I think I know the floorplan of my own house," Danny says, but Claude still has to maneuver him around the mess of shoes the boys always leave in the entranceway. "No internet," Danny calls behind himself at Caelan's bedroom. "I'll know." 

Cameron flaps a hand in their direction, and Claude waves back, even though he's not sure Cameron was actually waving. "We'll be back later," he says, and then they're out the door and Claude's locking it behind him with the key Danny had never asked for back. 

"You know, this would have been simpler if you'd let me put the blindfold on when we were in the car," Danny tells him the second time he stumbles over the uneven ground.

"We wouldn't have this problem if you'd just pick up your feet," Claude grumbles, tightening his grip on Danny's elbow. Danny has a point, but he can't back down now.

He gets Danny situated in the passenger's seat and hands him the belt buckle, guides his hand to the latch, then gets in the driver's side and reverses out in the same move he's done hundreds of times. The light spilling out from the living room window fades in the mirror, and they drive to the soft sounds of an oldies station that Danny likes, but which Claude is ambivalent to. 

"We'd have to be married if you want to dump my body and collect on the life insurance," Danny tells him ten minutes into the drive. His head is tipped back against the headrest, and Claude doesn't know if he's trying to see out the bottom of the blindfold or if he's just lounging. He thinks about swerving to see what Danny does, but he doesn't feel like getting pulled over.

"Stop trying to peek," Claude says instead. He can't see it, but he's pretty sure Danny's giving him an innocent look from under the tie. "We'll get there soon enough."

***

The parking lot for the Sunnyside pool complex is empty when Claude pulls in, and he makes sure to park in a space by the far corner in case anyone drives by and wonders why someone's there while the pool is closed for the night. 

"Alright," he says into the silence after he turns the engine off. "No peeking," he tells Danny when he goes to lift his blindfold. "We're not quite there yet."

"I'm intrigued," Danny tells him, and Claude tries to push down his nerves. He gets out and leads Danny toward the entrance, pulling the key for the padlock out of his pocket. Danny turns his head at the clatter the chain makes swinging against the wood slats of the fence, but he doesn't make any comments.

"Is that chlorine?" Danny asks when Claude leads him through and closes the gate behind him.

"Look, I know it's not the ocean," Claude tells him, taking off the blindfold. "And it's not really cocktails on the beach, but I had to improvise." He holds up the thermos he'd put together at his house. "Mai tais," he explains. 

He can't quite look at Danny yet. This whole thing had seemed like such a good idea at the time, but maybe Claude should have a second opinion on these kinds of things. "Come on," he says and kicks off his sandals before he can keep second-guessing himself. "I hear the water's warm."

He sits down on the concrete ledge and puts his feet in, and tries not to breathe a sigh of relief when Danny sits down next to him. The water looks ethereal from the lights they've got set below the surface, and they sit in silence for a while, Claude letting his feet drift in the water and bump against the pool wall. 

Maybe this was a stupid idea, he thinks, sneaking a look at Danny while he pours his mai tai concoction into the lid of the thermos. The light from the pool shimmers across Danny's face, and Claude can't read his expression like that, so familiar and yet different in the shifting light. 

"How do you even have the key to get in here?" Danny asks finally.

"I've got connections," Claude tells him, leaving out the fact that he'd asked Coots, who'd asked someone, who'd asked their niece.

"Did you bribe someone to put in the lights?" There's a small, pleased smile on his face, and Claude likes that he's the one who put it there, that this whole thing isn't a bust.

"Night swims, I think," he says, and passes the thermos lid to Danny. "But it's nice, right?"

"Yeah," Danny says. "It is." 

It is, Claude thinks, for all that it's a public swimming pool at night. It's started raining, soft and warm, a sprinkle that doesn't go anywhere or do much more than cool them off. He can hear the crickets singing, and he leans back on his hands, feels the rough grain of the cement beneath his palms.

"You never said," he starts, swinging his feet back and forth in the water. "Why the ocean? Like, why driving and not just flying? Why the whole thing?"

Danny's silent for a long minute before he looks over at Claude. 

"What?" Claude says. Danny's got a smile on his face, like he's trying to stop from laughing.

"It was a metaphor," he says. "The ocean. I mean, yes, I did want to do a road trip when I was in school, but I was actually… I was actually trying to work my way up to talking about us. What we could have been if we hadn't broken things off in Germany, and the possibility of starting again. Guess the moonshine didn't help with that," he says, self-deprecating. 

"This whole time," Claude says, staring at him. "This whole time you thought I wanted to, what, drag you along with me for forty hours in the car because _I_ wanted to?"

"No, I knew," Danny says. "Something you said on that second day. I knew what you thought, I just didn't feel the need to correct you."

"God, what a pair we make," Claude says, shaking his head. He laughs, despite himself. Maybe he should feel more embarrassed than he does, but there's something about the night and the glow of the lights from the pool that makes it all seem further away. "Sorry we didn't get to the ocean, and sorry for dragging you along with me. I'd have gotten you something you actually wanted if you'd said something."

"Hey." Danny reaches out to nudge Claude's side with his elbow. "I got what I wanted." His eyes are soft when Claude looks over at him, and if this were any other time Claude would tease him, but as it is he feels his breath catch in his throat. "All I really wanted to do was spend some time with my best friend."

And Claude's had his answer for a while, thinks he's had it since Danny kisses him in that motel room in Indiana, his shirt crumpled in a wet heap on the floor and sand in his sandals. Would have had it if Danny had just asked him, back on his deck instead of talking about the ocean. And here, now, that thing that once seemed so complicated? It still is, but it also just seems so… easy. Claude twists toward him and pulls Danny in, and Danny meets him with his mouth already parted. His lips are soft and warm against Claude's own, the taste of the rum lingering as Claude kisses him. 

"I would have followed you across the country," Claude tells him, resting his forehead against Danny's, eyes closed. I would have followed you anywhere, he thinks.

"I think you'll find I was the one doing the following." Claude can hear the smile in his voice, and he kisses him for it, sweet and slow. 

"I'm not ready to come out yet," Claude says, quiet like it's a secret, when he pulls away again. Danny's already nodding before Claude's finished.

"I can wait," he says. "I can wait as long as you need." 

"No," Claude says, because he's not going to let Danny do that for him, hold off on something that matters to him. "If this is something you've been thinking about for a while now, I'm not getting in the way of it. I'm still not ready, but maybe…" he stops, starts over. "It's not like it was, back then. The league isn't the same. And it's not like I'd be the first active player, if it got out." 

"Claude—" Danny says, but Claude doesn't want to hear it, not here.

"Look, I'm always going to be scared," Claude tells him, focusing back on the water and the tiny waves rippling out from his feet as he swishes them back and forth. "I was scared in Germany, and I'm still scared here. But I'm—" He struggles to find the words for a minute, then forges ahead, blind. "I'm tired of being afraid of the future. If there's something to face, I don't want it to just be this nebulous thing anymore. I'm still not ready to come out, but I think… soon, maybe. I'll be with you, and you'll come out, and then we'll let whatever happens, happen." 

"We can talk about it," Danny promises, taking Claude's hand. That means that he's planning on getting his way and staying in the closet, but Claude just hums. He still feels shaky when he thinks about coming out, but there's a frisson of excitement with it now, along with the nausea. Maybe he changes his mind tomorrow, but he knows he'll have Danny to figure it out with, either way. 

"More mai tais?" Claude asks to change the subject, shaking the thermos. 

"In a bit," Danny says, and then he's leaning in again. And for as long as the night will have them, Claude closes his eyes and doesn't think about what the future might hold, only the press of Danny's lips against his and the gentle patter of the rain. 

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Wherever You're Going, I'm Going Your Way (The Up the Coast Remix)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14236911) by [kinetikatrue](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kinetikatrue/pseuds/kinetikatrue)




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